


You're the Apple of My Eye

by Gampyre



Series: Fictober 2020 [2]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Bobbing for apples, First Kiss, Fluff, Flufftober, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, autumn vibes, fall carnival, seriously none of these carnival games are sanitary, unhygienic carnival games, writing this during covid times feels weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26800243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gampyre/pseuds/Gampyre
Summary: Flufftober 2020 day 3: Apple pickingOr: a barrel of apples plays matchmaker to two idiots in love
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Fictober 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949773
Comments: 22
Kudos: 95





	You're the Apple of My Eye

**Author's Note:**

> (I took this prompt somewhat loosely)
> 
> Flufftober prompts  
> [here](https://subpar-selkie.tumblr.com/post/628080856195547136/flufftober-prompts)

_Simon_

“Well, Snow? Which quest would you like to embark on first?”

I shrug. “I dunno. Maybe one of the ones with food?”

“Hmmm…” Baz muses, running his thumb along the edge of the ten-pack of tickets he bought. Enough for us to do five of the carnival activities together. “Well,” he says, “there’s the one with the donuts on the string, there’s bobbing for apples, there’s the one where you stick your hand into a box to touch some mystery food that feels like brains or eyeballs or some shit and you have to guess what it is. . . ”

“That last one sounds easy,” I say.

“That last one sounds unsanitary,” Baz says. “Though, to be fair, they all do.”

“We’re at a school-sponsored carnival, Baz. Everything here is unsanitary.”

We both turn to look at the kissing booth, where Gareth is currently snogging someone in the year below us. 

“Fair point,” Baz says. “So, which unsanitary activity do you fancy doing first?”

 _I wouldn’t mind snogging you_ , I think. But I don’t say it. 

“Erm, how about the apple one? Do you think they let you keep the apples you get? I’m a bit hungry.”

“Considering you have to successfully grab some apples first, I doubt it will make any difference,” Baz says. “You won’t have any to eat either way.”

“Oh, shut up. I bet I get twice as many apples as you,” I say.

Never one to back down from a challenge, he grins and says, “you’re on.”

Baz has been my best friend since… Well, since almost as long as I can remember. We grew up together. Went to school together—first primary school, then secondary school, and now we’re applying to all the same universities. He was there for me when my dad left. (I was there for him when his mum died.) He was the first one I came out to. (I was the first one _he_ came out to.) 

He’s the only person I’ve ever been in love with. (But he doesn’t know that part.)

We take a place at the back of the queue for the apple bobbing booth. He’s telling me a story about his sister and an argument she’d had with their dad over her Halloween costume. I’m only half paying attention, because the setting sun is casting orange highlights on his hair, and his grey eyes are reflecting the pink sky back at me, and he’s laughing and smiling at me as he talks, and _God,_ he’s so beautiful when he smiles.

I wish I could tell him how I feel about him. But I don’t think I’m the kind of person he wants to date. The guys he goes out with are always posher or fitter or cooler than me. And he never dates any of them for very long. I’m not even sure he liked any of them that much. He never seemed excited about going out with them. He’d always end up at my house after his dates, to complain about them and watch movies with me. And if _those_ blokes weren’t good enough for Baz, I’ll certainly never be. 

“Snow? Simon?” Baz lays a hand on my shoulder. 

“Huh?” I’ve been staring blankly at him for a bit too long.

“You zoned out,” he says.

“Oh, sorry,” I say. “Uh, can you tell me that story again? I think I missed most of it.”

Baz laughs and pulls his hand back, shoving it into his pocket. “Maybe later. What were you thinking about, just now?”

“Uh, nothing,” I stammer. “Doesn't matter.” He gives me a quizzical look. “Oh, look, it’s our turn!” I say, as I brush past him and walk up to the booth, hoping he doesn’t see the blush spreading across my cheeks.

Baz walks up behind me and hands over two tickets. The bloke running the booth—Rhys, I think his name is—points us toward an open barrel filled with water, where apples of all colours bob around on the surface. I dunno what’s supposed to be so hard about this game. You just have to bite the apples and pull them out of the water. There are _so many_ apples. _Red Prince, Gala, Cox, Spartan_. All my favourites.

“On your mark, get set, go!” Rhys calls, and Baz and I dive in.

The water is a bit chilly, and I try not to think about how many other faces have been sputtering and spitting in that same water today. I’ve got a bet to win.

Baz is going about the apple biting all methodically. He’s probably mentally calculating the most effective jaw angle to capture an apple, plotting precisely how deep to sink his teeth into the flesh for maximum efficiency. 

He could be a professional apple-biter if he wanted to. I don’t think those exist, but if they did, Baz would be fantastic at it. Or he could be some kind of apple-biting model. He’s got great teeth for it—perfectly white and healthy-looking. Like those people in the advertisements at the dentist.

I don’t bother with technique. I just go for it. I go down with a splash, mouth open, eyes closed, feeling blindly with my lips for the fruit.

Turns out bobbing for apples is harder than it looks. 

The faster I chase after them, the farther the apples float away. The more urgently I bite at them, the slipperier they get. I keep following them, moving around the barrel, and eventually I end up in Baz’s space. He brings his head up at the same time as I dive back in, and our heads collide with a dull _thunk_.

“Ow!” I say. “Careful!”

“Watch it, Snow! Why are you all the way over here?”

“The apples are all on your side.”

Baz raises an eyebrow. The ends of his hair are wet, and there are beads of water dripping off his eyelashes. “And whose fault is that?” he asks.

His lips are pink and his cheeks are flushed. I want to touch his lips with my fingers. See if they’re as soft as they look. Then I want to touch them with my own lips. With my tongue. With my teeth. I want to—

 _Fuck_.

I’m still staring at him. 

He’s still staring at me. 

He’s not smiling anymore. I can’t put a name to the expression on his face right now. All I know is I think I’ve seen it before. 

Like the time he was home sick and I skipped maths to bring him some soup and the notes from English class.

And the time I won my first wrestling match and he ran out onto the mats afterward just to hug me and congratulate me.

Or the time at the spring formal when we slow-danced to my favorite song, when he took my hands and placed them on his shoulders before taking me by the waist and holding me close.

He looked at me like this then, too.

I reach out and do what I’ve wanted to do for so long, placing the tip of my index finger on his mouth. His lips are even softer than I’d always imagined, warm and smooth like velvet, still a bit wet. He kisses the tip of my finger—the smallest of movements, the faintest of pressure. Barely more than a reflex. Just enough to make my heart stop. His lips part a bit as I slowly pull my hand away, my finger dragging across his lower lip.

I let my hand drop, and he catches it.

“ _Baz_ ,” I whisper.

And then he’s kissing me.

His hands are so cold, but his mouth is so hot, and if it weren’t for the whooping and cheering coming from the small crowd in the queue, I’d be certain I was dreaming.

Like I said, Baz has a perfect mouth. Perfect lips, perfect teeth, perfect tongue. But this is a _much_ better use of it than bobbing for apples.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on Tumblr!  
> [Gampyre on Tumblr](https://gampyre.tumblr.com/)


End file.
